The censorious didn’t care for the rites of the god of wine, but he was the protector of the whole dynasty: the god of frenzy and change, the deity of chance. No army moved without proper rations of wine and that the Great Alexander had understood, so his would-be pupils the Romans might take note as well. And if they mocked at the rites in which all took part, the men and the women, nobles and commoners, dressed counter to their roles in life, the men in women’s vestments and contrariwise, well, it was a great lesson, that life was full of strange reversals…

… As sentient laundry might well be thinking, she thought. From Queen to walking bedroll. The necklace of state dug into her collarbones and breasts, and she’d feel the bruises the next morning, if she should live so long. But it was necessary to be dressed for the part, so at the last safe way-station on her secret journey, she had dressed in her robes of state and the jeweled vulture headdress… though not the ceremonial wig, because that would be far too heavy, and as it was the headdress was only tucked in place by the bedclothes wrapped about her head like the heavy cloak and veil of the desert tribeswomen.